The Dixie Wasteland
by Falloutfan2281
Summary: An Enclave soldier, headed for The Dixie Wasteland in the ruins of former Alabama, sets on a quest to unite Alabama under the Enclave name. The American name.
1. Prologue: War Never Changes

"Somewhere there's music  
How faint the tune  
Somewhere there's heaven  
How high the moon  
There is no moon above  
When love is far away too  
Till it comes true  
That you love me as I love you

Somewhere there's music  
How near, how far  
Somewhere there's heaven  
It's where you are  
The darkest night would shine  
If you would come to me soon  
Until you will, how still my heart  
How high the moon..."  
(Les Paul &amp; Mary Ford - How High the Moon)

War. War never changes.  
When atomic fire hailed through the sky, many lives were lost, and the American way of life that was known and loved, was gone. Although America ceased to exist as a unified nation, many found a way to survive each day. Some took shelter in underground vaults that protected from the holocaust. Some took advantage of the lack of law and became raiders, who terrorized, pillaged, killed, raped, and maimed. Others became slavers, which was previously banned by constitutions worldwide and otherwise frowned upon. Others, simply, were vagrant wastelanders, looking for a place to call home.

You are an Enclave soldier, from Chicago, Illinois. Following the crushing defeating of the Brotherhood of Steel, the entire city was unified under the Enclave name. The American name. You and several others were then shipped to cities in the Hudson Wasteland (also known as New York City) and the Dixie Wasteland (in the ruins of former Alabama). You were one of many troops sent to the Dixie Wasteland to unify and secure the area under the Enclave name. There is no doubt there will be hindrances and roadblocks in your path. Some wastelanders think you are corrupt, tyrannical evildoers. Others believe you are godsend, and heroes of the wastelanders. None, however, will prevent your mission entirely, because all who oppose the Enclave will be removed... Forever. 


	2. Chapter 1: Miles' Backstory

Looking from the window of the Vertibird, I can see the clouds rolling in. Probably brown rain tonight. All my fellow soldiers are bored out of their minds, either drumming their fingers, or reading some copies of Milsurp Review or Future Weapons Today. Our pilot told us we were flying over Kentucky, and over Nashville soon as well. We'll be in Alabama soon.

Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Miles Barfoot. I am an Enclave soldier, from Chicago, headed on my way to the Dixie Wasteland. The date is April 21st, 2250, 173 years after the Big One. To pass the time, allow me to give my back-story.  
I was a farmer's kid. My dad ran the Barfoot farm, one of many agricultural facilities in the outskirts of Chicago. I tended the Brahmin herds from 5 am to about 10 pm every day, my brothers helped Dad with the crops, like maize, peas, carrots, etc., while my sisters helped Mom with dinner and cleaning the house. It seemed like the American Dream; hardly anyone bothered us (we got hit by Raiders many years back, but after Dad shot their leader dead in the eye, they didn't bother us much after that) and we lived in harmony. My live, however, changed for the better (and the worst) in November 8th, 2242.

That night, there was a knock on the door. When I opened the door, these men in power armor calling themselves the "Enclave" told me there was a "draft for all men between 17-21" to serve in their military. They told me they planned to revive America to its former glory and bring democracy to the wasteland. I had always been a patriot for my country, and when I heard this, I was excited. My parents approved of the matter (I had eight siblings anyways) and after saying farewells, I headed to basic training, in the ruins of Scott AFB.  
For six months, I trained, and learned proper marksmanship, power armor training, etc.. Since I had built my body from farming, I had a good start. The day I graduated from basic training was a moment I'll never forget. The ability to serve my country and fight for dear America was a dream come true.  
I was immediately sent back to Chicago, in an underground bunker in downtown Chicago, called Fort Earl. I was then placed in Infantry, my dream job in the Enclave. Life was grand, for a while. Then we encountered the Brotherhood of Steel.

Apparently these guys had been here since 2162 or something, but we both had different ideals. They wanted to recover pre-war technology, we wanted to recover America. We ignored each other for a while, but things became more and more tense. We disliked their interference in Enclave affairs, and they disliked our haughtiness and nosiness.  
We fought those power armoured Boy Scouts in war, until just recently. They had a good advantage over us, with their laser and plasma based weapons, and mowed us over. The causalities on our sides were high, theirs low. It seemed like all hope was lost. But that was all before we recovered some old nuke codes buried deep in Scott AFB, and bombed them into submission. Heh, that brings me back. We recovered all of their weaponry and armor, and claimed Chicago as our own. We established a democracy inside Chicago called New Cago, and accepted people of different shapes and sizes. Wastelanders, ghouls, mutants, etc. New Cago acted like any other pre-war American city, with taxes, private property, job opportunities, etc.. We still kept the bottle caps as currency, though.

If this sounds far different than President Richardson and his Enclave back west, that's because our leader in Chicago, President Randall, rejected all of their ideals. Randall, horrified by all of the supposed FEV experiments on wastelanders back west (somewhere called "Arroyo"), wanted to establish an America built on freedom and economic prosperity, not on fear, tyranny, and government experiments. The president talks about a democratic group back West known as the New Californian Republic, and he wants to be more like them. He dreamed of the States being united once again, under America. Under the Enclave. That is why we have shipped to the Hudson Wasteland and the Dixie Wasteland, to do America's deed.

Excuse me, that's the Vertibird landing. We've landed in Alabama.


	3. Chapter 2: The Worst Happens

As I disboarded the Vertibird, the sun's light blinded my eyes, and overwhelmed me for a moment. It was mid-afternoon, in the middle of a sweltering July. The pilot told us we had reached the pre-war city of Birmingham, Alabama. Well, what was left of it, anyways. Still, it seemed the city was not badly bombed as Chicago was; a lot of buildings actually remained intact. For the most part, at least.  
My commanding officer, Staff Sgt. Baker was giving a brief speech, but I wasn't paying any attention to him. I've heard enough of his shit, I think I know what to do by now. It felt so nice, absorbing the sun's rays and taking in the warm summer air. Maybe after my mission today, I'll relax in a nice hot tub, with my rubber ducky and toy boat...

An angry shouting snapped me out of my dreamy daze. "Specialist, I am not going to have to chokehold you for your incompetence, am I?" Staff Sgt. Baker barked. "I'll say this for the last and final time, WAKE UP!"  
"Right away, sir!" I shouted.  
"Alright then, soldier. Now, like I said to the rest of the men, you're going to get in the shuttle that will take you to Fort Rucker, where you'll get further briefing. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Yes sir!" I shouted.  
"At ease, soldier." Staff Sgt. Baker remarked. Everyone else laughed at me as soon as the Colonel was out of earshot.  
"C'mon, Miles. Pay more attention next time, you know Staff Sgt. Baker hates soldiers who stare into space," my friend Fred snorted. "You don't wanna get shit on your first day here, right?"  
"Ah, shut up," I replied, pushing him. Fred grinned.  
I met Fred in Chicago when we were both assigned in the same patrol group. We had a lot of common, we both loved our country, we hated commies, and we loved the nice cold taste of a Nuka-Cola. Although he was rather annoying and most of the time an idiot, he was a reliable and responsible friend to have around. My best friend.

"Come on, troops! Into the shuttle!" yelled Staff Sgt. Baker.  
The "shuttle" was a Chryslus auto from before the war. Except, it looked nothing like the ruined, exploding ones you'd see in Cago. Not only was it completely refurbished and renewed, but it had the Enclave logo on the hood. Neat.  
We boarded the shuttle and I just had to gaze in awe at the fact that we were riding in a Chryslus! I've always read books on pre-war automobiles, but I never knew the day would come true!  
No one else seemed ethusiastic about it, however, so I talked with Fred about Enclave matters for some time, and our topic came to Birmingham.  
"I dunno much about this city, but it housed the McWane Science Center, the Nuka-Cola factory, and its supporting farmer's market." Fred said cluelessly.  
"A Nuka-Cola factory? That's cool, but I doubt it hasn't been raided." I remarked, disappointed. "I could go for a Nuka Cherry right now."  
"Me too," Fred said dreamily, smacking his lips as if imagining to taste the irradiated soda.  
"Have you ever had Nuk-"

BOOM!

The car had suddenly overturned on its side, and everyone fell out of the car at once. I felt dizzy, and my head was spinning. Everything seemed like a blur, I saw fuzzy shapes, and heard shouts of anger and gunfire. I was too dazed to process what was going on, and I couldn't seem to find out what the whole ordeal was.

An arm grabbed my shoulder and threw me to safety.

"Fuckin' Raiders, man!" bellowed Fred, firing a Chinese Assault Rifle. "Fuck 'em, fuck 'em!"  
I reached for my laser pistol, christened "Big Iron", and shot it a couple times at a Raider who was clearly zonked on Jet.  
"It's go time! You're gonna die, you're gonna die!" the Raider sang. "You're gon-", he continued, before getting shot in the head.  
From what hazy sight I had, I saw there were two remaining Raiders left, compared to us six men in power armor.  
"Aww, fuck this! We're out!" one Raider screamed, as they tried to flee. A couple caps in the knee knocked them down, but not before one pulled out a .32 pistol and fired three shots at the Chryslus.  
"GET DOWN!" I screamed.

...

A deafening roar accompanied the small mushroom cloud that came out of the now smouldering ruins of the Chryslus, and I fell to the ground with a thud. Looking at my power watch, I realized I was crippled. I reached in my pocket for a Stimpak and administrated it to my legs. Getting up, I was greeted to a horrific sight. The other soldiers weren't very lucky at all. I tried looking for survivors, but to no avail; everyone around me had died...

"Miles..." a voice whispered feebly. It was Fred.

"Fred! Stay with me!" I screamed, running over to him, not caring if I attracted the attention of Raiders, Yao Guai, or any other generic Wastelander. Fred very weakly turned his head to me. "Stay with me, man!" I grabbed all the Stimpaks I had in my satchel and tried to heal Fred, but he stopped me.  
"Miles..." he groaned, pointing to his lower body. His legs were almost completely gone, all that remained was his thigh up. "Please... kill me now. I can't live the rest of my life like this."  
"I wouldn't do that to you! You know that!" I cried. "You're my best friend. I can't-"  
"If you don't kill me, I'll live a life as a fuckin' cripple. If you were a good friend, you'd end my misery. You won't feel guilt because I actually asked you to do this."  
I then realized he was right. It was selfish to not kill my friend, I needed to end his suffering. "We had a good run didn't we?" Fred grinned. "Taking out the Steelers in Chicago, and democracising the wasteland, I'm glad I got to fight alongside you, man." Pulling out "Big Iron", I loaded a Max Charge Energy Cell, pointed at Fred, and fired. "I'm glad I did too."

After ending my friend's life (I don't want to use the word 'kill'), I felt alone for the first time in years. It felt like there was a hole in my heart, a hollow patch of desolate, bleak nothingness. I've always felt empty, with drugs and alcoholism as an attempt to fill up that void in my heart, but my friend and my family later filled that gap. The fact that I shot my best friend who I consider brethren, this gap returned. These feelings would have to be observed later; right now, I had to find shelter, and better yet, call for a rescue party.

"Hellooooooo, wastelanders! This is your boy, Atticus, coming atcha! Hope you're doing great and are safe, because let's be honest, the world is shit. Now, for the news."

I'd advise y'all to STAY AWAY from the infamous dystopia of the National Fascist Neo-Nazi Nation of Frank. Unless you like totalitarian societies, mass genocide against ghouls and super mutants, the restriction on speech and rights, indoctrinating youth programs, one-sided propaganda, and all the like, then you're gonna have a bad time."

"Trading routes to Lahoma, the biggest trading city in the West, have been blocked off recently by those goddamned super mutants. Ugh, can't they just bug off somewhere else?"

"This is your DJ, Atticus, signing off for the night. Or am I? Haha, here's some Benny Goodman with 'Sing, Sing, Sing'."

The growling trumpet lines of "Sing, Sing, Sing" awoke me from my slumber. Cursing silently at the radio, I got out of the supply closet I was sleeping in and looked at my power watch. 8:27 PM. I had slept for six hours, six hours after when my squad and my friends were killed by Raiders.  
I grabbed my laser pistol and carefully exited the closet I stumbled into, leaving behind the Radiation King radio that was blaring full-out swing music. As I walked out of the former Smitty's bar building, I remembered the driver of our Chryslus said we were about 45 minutes driving from Fort Riley. Given our vehicle was in smoulders, and the Enclave wasn't answering my distress calls, I decided to walk the route to Fort Riley, on a trail of dust.


	4. Chapter 3: The Hudson Wasteland - Part I

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, it's been a while since I added on to this story! I'm not gonna lie or make any excuses, I slacked off and didn't plan on writing any more chapters to this story. Yup, laziness is an epidemic in this country. But it's back, baby! **

**Just a little update: Since the last chapter, I actually played the original Interplay/Black Isles Studio Fallout games (Fallout and Fallout 2). And they're brilliant! I actually prefer them over the Bethesda/Obsidian Fallout games (although Fallout New Vegas is one of my all-time favorites). Yeah, the combat system is very awkward and the gods-eye view, turn based gameplay may alienate some players, but the lore and the very dark comedy make those two games outstanding pieces of art. I highly recommend the games to any huge fans of New Vegas who loved it for its comedic sense and very deep character development. Fans of Fallout 3? You guys may not like it so much. **

**A lot of ideas for the story, in terms of lore and new characters. There will be some factions later on that will give the story momentum, such as The Dixie Boys Militia. Just keep your eyes peeled for what's to come!**

"Hey, hey. Soldier! You alright?"

I had awoken to a hand shaking my shoulder vigorously. Three figures stood before me, two in Mk II power armour, the middle man wearing what seems like combat armor(?)  
"Erm?" I muttered. "Whass goin' onn? Who are you?" "What unit are you in, son? Where is your squad?"  
"...Squ-sq-uad?"  
Suddenly, I remembered the carnage that had been bestowed to my friends. Fred... the frozen grimace painted on his face when he was shot...  
I vomited profusely onto the barren ground. I shuddered. The man looked on in empathy, as if he knew what went on and decided that it was best not to discuss.  
"Whatever it is, you're in good hands, my boy. What is your name?" the man in combat armor inquired.  
"Muh-muh-miles."  
"I'm Corporal White, Bravo Company. We were headed to the city when we noticed your predicament. It's best we get you to base."  
The men in power armor hoisted me up and got me on my feet. Apparently, I had collapsed after three hours of apathetic walking. Talk about unmotivated.

The men said nothing as we headed towards Fort Riley. Something told me they were too afraid to ask what had happened.  
I heard snippets of muttering between the two armored soldiers, such as "looks messed up" and "nothing comparable to our worst". I heard one of the power armoured men whisper to the other about "what happened back home West" and "Navarro".  
Navarro... Some soldiers back in Chicago mentioned they knew people who were involved in Navarro. And something about an oil rig...  
The Enclave wasn't always renowned for being the do-gooders of the wasteland. They were infamous for their selfish piety and patriotic willingness to cause harm to any unlucky wastelanders they came across. I learned this from President Randall during his inauguration address back in '44. He mentioned the West Coast Enclave had attempted to exterminate the populace of the USA with a deadly weapon. What the weapon was, he was not sure. All he did know is an unknown hero stopped the evils from going on at that time.  
After hearing that story, and discovering that the East Coast Enclave were survivors of that particular group, I figured these criminals would leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth about the Enclave.

After four weeks of therapy at Fort Riley, the physicians concluded that I was too mentally unfit for combat. I assured them I was fine, but yet I was not. I was too determined to fight against the scourge and villiany plaguing this very wasteland. One of the lead physicians, Dr. Ronald Crates, had came in for my daily evaluation at around 3:44 PM.  
"Hello, Miles. Doing okay?" he said with a smile. Something was off about Dr. Crates. I wasn't involved in the computer science or medical fields back home, but I knew for certain this man was hired locally. Which was the majority of the new scientists...  
Our engineers, refurbishing old weapons and even developing new weaponry... Our physicians... Our computer scientists and Vertibird technicians... Where were they all from, save a small group of scientists who flew in from Chicago with us on our trip to Alabama? I had asked the higher brass about it, and I was told they were a shipment of "eager and dignified volunteers from a classified area".  
"Miles...?" the doctor asked. "Well, I've come in to give you your daily dosage of fluoxetine pills. You know, for your-"  
"I'm not taking that shit".  
"Pardon?" asked Dr. Crates, a ping of worry evident in his voice. "You heard me, I'm not taking them. Not until I get some answers." I spat, my eyes still fixated on the white wall in front of me.  
"What would you like to know, Mr. Barfoot?"  
I said nothing.  
"Mr. Barfoot?"  
"Your origin, where did you come from?" I blurted out, the hostility leaving my voice.  
"Erm, about that...", the Doctor started.  
"Is there a problem?"  
"Well Miles, that's not really for me to say, it's classi-"  
"Oh come on, Doc. That way I get to know you better, and I won't tell a soul. Promise."  
Doctor Crates hesistated, bit his lip, then began to talk.

THE HUDSON WASTELAND MARCH 17TH, 2250

Looking outside the Vertibird that was now flying over former New York, New York State; the city a forlorn shape of ruin towering over a crater, Captain Harbison eyed the landing platform in the Hamptons, the mansions suffering nearly 200 years of neglect and abuse.  
Captain Harbison had been involved in the Enclave-BOS war that had taken place years prior. Decked in a baige officer's uniform, he had many of medals and pins fastened proudly to his chest. His ancestry had been fighting in American wars since 1776, and it was rumored he was directly descended from a famous WWII naval commander in the South Pacific.  
Harbison was born in a family of great influence and power. His father was a Command Sargeant Major in the Enclave, his mother the daughter of a wealthy Brahmin baron.  
Taking advantage of the advanced colleges that had spruced up during the Enclave occupation of West Chicago (or, to those who insisted by its post-war name, Cago), he had graduated with all honors and joined up as a First Lieutenant.  
Harbison, a burly man of thirty-eight, had deep furrows on his face, and hardened calluses on his fingers. He had almost always had a sort of permanent leer on his face, as if he had some kind of malicious intent. He had been goggling through the Vertibird window that overlooked the ruins of the Hamptoms.  
"I heard the Hamptons were one of the ritzier neighborhoods in the pre-war era. No wonder the Chinese bombed it to hell," a private whispered. The Captain eavesdropped on this conversation while looking through the Vertibird windowpanel, observing a downpour. Ten minutes later, the Vertibird landed on the designated platform. Six power armoured soldiers, including the Captain, got out of the Vertibird and formed a sigma.  
"Sargeant! Do you have the status of the vaults in this immediate area?" the Captain shouted at a nervous, beady-eyed Sargeant, saluting the "Yessir, the status of the vaults are in this holotape," the Sargeant replied eagerly, though still nervously sweating, handing the Captain a worn black holotape.  
The Captain had rolled up his uniform's sleeves, revealing a Pip Boy 4000, which was the most advanced piece of RobCo technology made so far. This was standard military issue to high-ranking officers in the Enclave (the Lieutenants and high-ranking NCOs usually got second-hand Pip Boy 3000s or even Pip Boy 2000s for the grunts.)

MARCH 15TH, 2250 WARNING! THIS DOCUMENT IS PROPERTY OF THE MIDWEST ENCLAVE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS TO TO THIS HOLOTAPE IS SUBJECT TO CRIMINAL PROSECUTION BY THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW!  
THIS MAY INCLUDE A 5,000 CAP FINE AND/OR TEN YEARS IN A CRIMINAL CORRECTIONAL FACILITY!

VAULT LISTING IN THE HUDSON WASTELAND REPORTED BY PRIVATE FIRST CLASS DOBBS, 13TH MESR BATTALION

VAULT 54 LOCATION: STATEN ISLAND ESTIMATED INHABITANTS: 300 PURPOSE: THIS VAULT WAS A SOCIAL EXPERIMENT. CONVICTS WITH MULTIPLE FELONIES (MURDER, RAPE, ROBBERY, ASSAULT, HACKING) WERE RELEASED FROM STATE PRISONS, PLACED IN THIS VAULT,  
AND OBSERVED IN A CONTROLLED SETTING. SUFFICE TO SAY, THE EXPERIMENT WAS SHORT-LIVED.  
VAULT 42 LOCATION: BROOKYLN ESTIMATED INHABITANTS: 250 PURPOSE: NO LIGHT BULBS OF MORE THAN 40 WATTS WERE PROVIDED. THE INHABITANTS AS OF NOW (2250) CHOOSE TO REMAIN IN THE VAULT DUE TO CLAUSTROPHOBIA, XENOPHOBIA, AND POSSIBLY RETINAL DAMAGE FROM THE SUN'S BRIGHT LIGHT.

VAULT 33 LOCATION: THE HAMPTONS ESTIMATED INHABITANTS: ?  
PURPOSE: THIS VAULT WAS FILLED WITH NATION-RENOWNED CHEMISTS, BIOLOGISTS, PHYSICISTS, SCIENTISTS OF EVERY FIELD (INCLUDING PHYSICIANS, DOCTORS, PSYCHOLOGISTS, LAWYERS,  
EVEN ART MAJORS). AS OF NOW (2250), THE VAULT IS STILL OPERATIONAL AND IN FULL FORCE DUE TO THE WORK OF THE VAULT CITIZENS.

END OF TRANSMISSION As the transmission ended, a cartoon character donning a blue and yellow jumpsuit and a very comical grin strolled up on the screen. This was the Vault Boy.  
THANK YOU FOR USING THE PIP BOY 4000! (the Vault Boy pointed at the Captain, flashing a toothy grin) DID YOU KNOW THAT...  
...ROBCO PRODUCES OVER 40,000 TONS OF ROBOTS, TOOLS, AND SUPPLIES YEARLY?  
...THE FOUNDER, CEO, PRESIDENT, AND SOLE PROPRIETER OF ROBCO IS ROBERT EDWIN HOUSE, WHO OVERSAW THE DESIGN OF THE PIP BOY 3000 AND THE STEALTHBOY 3001?  
"House is probably dead," Captain Harbison chortled. "Unless he's in a cryogenic chamber, waiting for his next opportunity to strike victory from the jaws of defeat."  
"What is your next order, Captain Harbison, sir?" the Sargeant spoke up.  
"Direct me to this Vault 33, Sargeant. That's an order straight from the President," Harbison commanded sternly, although the ghost of a smile was written on his face.

-  
Lab Technician Watson was overseeing the renovation of one of the vaults many atriums, which was entering developement as a science lab for a Vault Summer program, which practically every vault teenager signed up for. In this program, the youth of Vault 33 would learn scientific fields that their elder superiors had already worked and surpassed in.  
Advances in genetic engineering, stem cell research, human and animal biology, cloning, physics, medicine, and nuclear energy had taken place in the vault since its doors closed on October 23, 2077.  
Watson was living a grand, joyful life. He had married his childhood sweetheart, Cheryl Cavendish, had landed a position as Assissant Head Lab Technician,  
and had a newborn child with his wife: a baby girl named Hermione (named from Greek mythology, something the two were fond of). Needless to say, James Watson was happy.  
Like Watson and Cavendish, every vault citizen had the undying ambition of contributing to the art of science. Autonomous vehicles, the first human-like Androids, the cure for Parkinsons, new math theories (a mathematician named Sorvish had imagined a advanced, new form of calculus), testing with starfish DNA so dwellers could regenerate limbs, virtual simulations, all projects in the works.  
The vault was equipped with an spacious entertainment atrium, several floors of dorms and labs, and a reactor room affixed with several nuclear generators. This all would fit the demand of the bubbling community in the vault.

Life had been very exciting in the vault for close to a hundred and seventy-seven years. However, anything occurring was immediatedly negated by what would happen not a minute later.  
The dull screaming roar of the Vault 33 door opening, a cloud of dust, and pairs of intruders in metal-plated luminiscent armor...


	5. Chapter 5

**Heyo.**

**Sorry for the delay, folks. I feel like I have some explaining to do. With my involvement in two school plays and other unimportant school bullshit, etc. etc., I've been unable to sit down and write another full-fledged chapter of the Dixie Wasteland. (That statement, however, is mostly untrue; I've written at least three incomplete chapters for the Dixie Wasteland, but they've either gone missing or are on another computer). **

**There is a Spotify playlist for songs that have appeared in the story so far (and will appear in the near future). Just look up "Dixie Wasteland" by negativecreepkm. If you have any suggestions for the playlist, please let me know (must be lore-friendly).**

**Thank you for your patience, and expect a new chapter sometime later this month.**


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